A Concert for Two
by Road of Ruin
Summary: Human AU oneshot. It was music that brought them together even when Gilbert had tried so hard to rip them apart. The story of two musicians and the music they created together even when they parted. Main: onesided PruAus; PruCan, AusHun


_(A/N: Hello all, Road of Ruin here… I wrote this piece for my creative writing Fiction class and then I was threatened into putting this up here lol so please enjoy this oneshot. It's the first story I'm posting on my new account so I'm a bit nervous about it *laughs* Any reviews and feedback will be greatly appreciated.)_

Fandom: _Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hetalia: World Series_

Rated: K+

Pairings: one-sided musician!Gilbert x Roderich main, Gilbert x Matthew, Roderich x Elizaveta

* * *

><p><strong>A Concert for Two<strong>

The opera house is filled to bursting, the crowd murmuring and moving in the dense atmosphere to their seats like swarms of ants congregating towards a fallen piece of food left unattended on the sidewalk. The air is thick but not hard to breathe in, even as people squish together in their places, theatre veterans and virgins alike talking and laughing and waiting in anticipation for what is to come.

It is a crowd Gilbert has seen many times but he still feels the undeniable thrill of excitement that shoots down his spine, shivering through his hands and into his waiting violin as he peeks around the satin-red curtains to get a better view. Half the crowd sits in ease and relaxation, leaning in their seats while they eye the stage, knowing what to expect. The other half bounce nervously in their seats, staring every which way, not knowing where to focus until the lights start to dim and the stage is illuminated in a bright spotlight, drawing their attention. They focus on the sudden change with expressions mirroring a deer stuck in the headlights of an oncoming truck. They have no idea what they're in for. Gilbert chuckles at how ridiculous they look.

"Don't let them see you," Roderich reprimands on cue, appearing behind him from the waiting room hidden in the back, pulling on his starched-white gloves. This too is part of their concert tradition and Gilbert rolls his eyes, holding his position a few more breaths before pulling away, grinning snidely at the frowning pianist.

They share a brief, silent battle of wits with their gazes before a hush slides over the sleeping dragon outside and the curtain draws back to let them through.

"After you," Gilbert smirks, letting the other man pass with a huff before following him onto the stage, his senses immediately overcome by the rolling applause greeting them. He stares without fear out at their faces as he steps into place, bowing to the crowd with a more reserved smile curling over his mouth. He doesn't need to look behind him to know Roderich is doing the same, bending elegantly next to his piano.

"Don't mess this up," he hears as he straightens and nods his head to let the other know his hidden threat was heard.

Then the Austrian sits at his bench and the spell is cast, silencing the crowd as Roderich begins to play, the ominous notes building and building in harsh _staccato_ like a coiling snake, reaching out with purpose, enchanting their prey. Gilbert can feel the audience begin to lean into the music and he hides a smile, waiting for his cue to let loose the gnawing tension and allow the snake to strike.

* * *

><p>It all began when Gilbert was six. He had only been playing the violin for a year and a half but already his genius talent had caught his <em>vati's<em> attention and, after a month or so of long nights practicing when he should be sleeping just so his father could watch every movement of his fingers down the fingerboard, he and his two-year old brother were packed up with the rest of the house and moved out of West Berlin to Vienna.

It was the early 80's then, a time where music could be heard on every corner of every street, reverberating from the _Staatsoper _State Opera house, to the courtyard of the Hofburg Palace. The classics, the not-so-classics, the improvised, the obscene; Gilbert had never heard such a mashing of talent and not-talent in such a compact, ancient place.

The splendor of the city was not lost on him, and it drew his attention from his father's purposes. More than a dozen arguments flared up between them that first month. His father wanted him to play Mozart for the big boys at the opera house, the University, any and all stages the world could view him. Gilbert wanted to play Beethoven for the musicians on the street corners, the stairways, the park near Maria-Teresa-Square, any and all places that he could improvise and improve his music until all fell in awe of him.

But unfortunately, _Vati_ was tall and strong and insisted he knew what was best. He never let Gilbert argue, never let him do as he pleased until he suffered through meeting after meeting with boring old men who were so stuck in their previous centuries it was physically stifling. That was when the word _prodigy_ began to appear in every sentence he was brought up in. Gilbert saw many music teachers of all specialty and significance, all of whom eyed him like a chunk of fresh meat and declared their love for him the moment he finished playing. He eyed them all like the insects they were and declared his disgust with a flourish of his bow. Their love never lasted once he opened his mouth.

He had exasperated his father out of all reason by that point and he himself had lost count of all the teachers he had bad-mouthed into kicking him out. It was a delightful game to him, one he enjoyed with far too much enthusiasm and it was taking its toll on his _vati's_ patience.

Being the strict German that his father had been, it wasn't too much of a surprise when Gilbert found himself on the porch of the small brick music room outside of the University, grimacing in distaste at the decaying wood door and the peeling red paint that feebly covered it. His pouty, unimpressed look did nothing to stop his father from nearly throwing him into the room by his shirt collar, whining loudly as he stumbled into place.

Old Man Fritz was about as German as it got, with his tightly jelled white-blonde hair, his sharp spectacles and even sharper eyes and his sneering face that never smiled, all the way down to a black leather riding crop which he used to whack loudly against any available surface. Gilbert had stared at that crop and felt fear of someone other than _Vati_ for the very first time.

"This is the boy?" Fritz had asked, voice flat and toneless. Gilbert had shivered in place as his father pushed him forward.

_"Ja,_ this is my son, Gilbert. He's good vith the strings but despicable vhen it comes to anything refined. I apologize for his stupidity in advance."

Fritz had almost smiled at that, a strange twisting of his mouth that was horrifying to watch, much like a lion licking its lips. Gilbert's violin trembled in his hands.

"Vell boy," the gruff man barked, "dazzle me."

His little fingers had shaken something awful as he raised his instrument obediently, suddenly too scared to do otherwise. He'd managed a rushed version of Ponchielli's _Dance of the Hours_ before he dropped his bow as his hands gave out. Gilbert turned his eyes up to Old Man Fritz, expecting that crop to come out of nowhere and hit him, or a harsh laugh, or anything.

"Hmm… _nicht schlecht,"_ the man hummed, thoughtfully stroking his chin. "He has potential, I'll give him that… though ve must vork on his technique."

He'd then looked down his long nose at Gilbert standing there dumbly, staring wide-eyed at his fallen bow. Fritz puffed out his cheeks.

"Dropping your bow is a habit only reserved for broken hands, und my boy, if you drop your bow again und your hands are not broken, I can assure you that by the time I'm through vith you, you'll vish they had been."

* * *

><p>Gilbert counts the measures as they flow by him straight for the audience, measuring each sequence of notes with his breathing and he lifts his violin, hands firm and steady as he readies his bow. He turns towards Roderich and the man gives a faint nod, a barely noticeable pause giving way as Gilbert brings the bow over the strings and lets the music fly. The notes come in a daring <em>crescendo,<em> haunting, vicious, and terrifyingly beautiful. He quickly looses himself in it, worshipping each note as it falls from his fingers, caressing his instrument with all the love he can muster, bringing out its sure tone and velocity with practiced ease.

The crowd follows the music, too enchanted to do anything else. They sit there, dumbfounded and awed, while the two players weave their magic over them, reach into them, pull at their minds, their bodies, their souls. Roderich's fingers are flying over the keys, pressing down on everyone's heads with a firm _forte_, hitting them purposely while Gilbert draws his bow across them, playing unashamedly on their heartstrings.

They play together like that, forcing the audience into their dance of melody and rhythm, drawing them up and up, faster and faster to the very top of the mountain, where the music turns cold and crisp as it sharpens and starts to fall headfirst in a running half-note drop.

Sweat peppers his brow, his breaths are hard and wet, and his smile stretches to its fullest extent against the wood of his beloved instrument. This is what he lives for, what he was born to do, Gilbert is sure. And when his sequence is up, he lets the last note go with a heavy _twang_. Their magic spell shivers in place, a snake very much alive as Roderich grabs its tail with a smile and begins to shake it back and forth in a _decrescendo,_ to and fro.

* * *

><p>Their rivalry was born the moment they met, though both would always argue just who had started the twin decades of heated arguments over sheet music and the <em>un-awesomeness<em> of wearing glasses. Gilbert stood by his view with smug determination, that Roderich had started it the moment he'd realized what a pansy the Austrian boy really was. In response, Roderich always rolled his eyes with a leer and vehemently claimed that it had happened the moment Gilbert had opened his mouth (just as he blamed most things when they went sour).

Whichever view was true, neither could deny it started the morning when Old Man Fritz pulled Gilbert into one of the practice rooms at the back of the decrepit building. The first thing the boy had seen was the black Baby Grand resting in the center of the room, sleek and new. It had looked so out of place, that beautiful piano in the middle of a sea of hardwood floors and cracking ceilings, but not as out of place as the boy sitting on the edge of the bench, playing earnestly on its gleaming ivory keys, dark hair plastered to his head in damp curls, pouty lips drawn in as his glasses slipped precariously down his small nose, his little legs dangling just a few inches from the petals below. His clothes had all been neatly ironed and pressed and the way he stared down at his music over his upturned nose implied a snootiness that had irked Gilbert to no end. He'd been reminded of his schoolmates back in Berlin, those who'd poked fun and had teased him mercilessly for his strange looks brought on by his albinism and snorted loudly in distaste, stopping the other's music instantly.

"Who are _you?" _Roderich spat, his disgust immediate. Gilbert had returned the sentiment with a loud huff.

"Gilbert _the_ Awesome," he'd stated with pride, puffing out his chest. The other boy had started to laugh, amused with his display. The abnormality of the fact that Gilbert was a natural albino had been lost to him, his revulsion coming instead by the state of his dress and the tattered shoes he was wearing. Gilbert could see the Austrian's opinion of him plummeting as they exchanged direct, dark glares at each other. Roderich had then sniffed once, adjusted his glasses and pulled in his lips before turning back to his piano, simply not impressed.

_"Right…"_ Roderich had drawled, resuming his song. Gilbert frowned, not liking being brushed off so easily.

"Und vhat's your name?" he'd challenged, eyes ablaze with fury, _"Prinzessin?"_

The other boy's hands had slammed down on the keys, creating a deafening, murderous note. Gilbert laughed in victory.

"Vhat did you just call me?" Roderich had shouted, scandalized. He pointed at the Austrian boy's lips.

_"Prinzessin,"_ Gilbert repeated, slowly, as though he was speaking to his baby brother Ludwig back home. "You even have that pretty-mole thing under your lip! So _un-awesome!"_

Roderich had looked ready to throttle the life out of him but physically restrained himself, balling up his hands into neat little fists, much to Gilbert's growing delight.

"Vhat's wrong _Prinzessin?_ Scared?"

_"Nein,_ I just don't vant to break my fist on your face, _monstrum_."

"I'm not a freak!"

"Your eyes are red und your hair is white! _Monstrum!"_

"I vas born like this _arschloch!"_

They'd degraded quickly from there, screaming into each other's faces while they drew themselves up to their full six-year old heights. They'd managed to progress to insulting the other's ancestry when Old Man Fritz finally slapped his crop down firmly on their heads with an exasperated sigh, snarling something about _rotten ingrates_ as they both squealed in pain, doubling over as their scalps burned and stung. It was only the beginning.

* * *

><p>Gilbert smiles to himself as Roderich plays, attacking the keys during the <em>tremolo <em>with his never-ending intensity. The notes rise and fall, soften and build as the snake once again wraps tightly around them, bringing the audience to the edges of their seats, sliding across the tension and majesty they are creating. They strike hard and fast as the music changes, and Roderich quickens the pace, looking up only once to give Gilbert his cue.

He's ready and waiting when it comes and he slaps the strings with a steady hand, bringing the music to a mighty _staccato_ heartbeat that he is free to play with, smiling when he becomes the very breath of the melody while Roderich's fingers sing out the poignant _fortissimo _body of the beast. The snake twists and snarls as they once again slide up the mountain, breath and life in a mighty _crescendo_, and fling the great serpent over the top, screaming and twisting and violent. It is terrifying and absolute, wondrous and stunning. It is them and all they are, all they ever will be.

It is beautiful.

* * *

><p>Gilbert discovered quickly that although both he and Roderich spoke German, when it came to music they spoke completely different languages, and this discrepancy only grew as they got older and more familiar with each other. For Gilbert it was like a game, getting as far under Roderich's skin as he possibly could until he became an itch the more refined pianist just had to scratch. For Roderich, it was a challenge that he met head on.<p>

"Mozart is far superior to _Beethoven,"_ Roderich snapped for the hundredth time, spitting out the word as though it had turned to ash on his tongue. Even at sixteen, Gilbert still had the same unshakeable bite he'd had when they were six and he was proud of it. Roderich shook his sheet music between them and Gilbert easily snatched at the piece and flung it away, shoving his own music of choice against the Austrian teen's glasses.

"_Nein,_ _Beethoven_ is better," he growled, resolute.

The small music building was just as bad as it had always been those days and their shouting shook the ceiling, the windows, and the walls. Chunks of rock and plaster the size of baseballs fell to the ground around them. They were too far gone to notice, too used to the ceiling falling on them to care.

"How can you say that, you uncultured _monstrum?"_ the other sneered right back, knocking the pages out of the way. "Everyone knows Beethoven based his music off of _Mozart's_ symphonies!"

"That doesn't make him better!"

Any retort Roderich could have summoned was drowned out as the infamous crop slammed hard onto their heads, making them both cower in pain as Old Man Fritz stood over them, glaring heatedly.

"Pick a damn piece already or so help me, I'll make you memorize music written by a _Russian!"_

Neither of them fully understood that threat, nor would they ever, even after the old man passed away in their later twenties. They only knew that Fritz hated Russian music with a burning passion and it shone through his eyes and his twisted snarl. It was enough to shut them both up, though it didn't stop the glare that escaped Roderich's sharp face as he grudgingly grabbed a copy of Beethoven and sulked all the way back to his piano.

* * *

><p>The climax hits with great flourish and triumph and Gilbert can feel everyone's eyes on him as he pauses on the strings, the few notes Roderich plays slowing and softening to a low <em>pianissimo<em> pulse, waiting for him to bring it back to life. He answers by playing almost tenderly, sadly, using the entire bow to accentuate his _vibrato._ The music trembles in his hands, the violin crying at the desolate tone. This is the simplest part of the piece and Gilbert takes time to focus on his audience, giving the crowd individual faces for the first time. He sees old women with tears in their eyes, young souls with their faces twisted at the intensity of the notes. Little children wide-eyed next to their parents who stare him down with shining, unwavering eyes. He notices Ludwig in the front row, his little brother's eyes closed in delight with the music and smiles sadly at the sight of the empty chair next to him, vacant save for a bouquet of wildflowers saving the spot for his departed _Vati._

Lastly, he finds Matthew, the mop of wavy blonde hair giving him away. He watches the way the light from the stage glints on the frames of his glasses, obscuring his blue eyes. There is a sweet smile on his face as their gazes meet and Gilbert sees it's the same smile that made him fall so fast all those years ago. He pours more _vibrato_ into the music, letting the notes really sing out, reaching for Matthew. Behind him he can hear Roderich doing the same thing for his own Hungarian sweetheart sitting up front, smiling gently as he kisses the keys with his fingers, probably imagining they were her lips instead.

When the last notes hang in the air, it is for them.

* * *

><p>They parted ways when they turned eighteen. It was not a happy departure. For years Gilbert had denied feelings that had been growing in his chest for some time, feelings for Roderich, feelings that were disastrous in every way imaginable. And when the Austrian told him off-handedly about his scholarship to the University and a chair in the Vienna Philharmonic, those feelings came crashing down with a vengeance and exploded brutally in his gut. He lost it.<p>

He yelled, he screamed, he didn't understand why. Roderich regarded him in exasperation while the frail friendship they'd managed to create under all the games and insults teetered over the edge of reason at a dangerous level. His voice went cold, calculating, and for one, horrible, terrible moment, Gilbert feared that somehow Roderich had found him out.

But Roderich only shook his head, frowning in confusion at his reaction.

"I thought you'd be happy for me. You're the vone who petitioned for me to even get a chair in the Philharmonic."

Gilbert almost slipped but didn't let himself fall. He reined himself in, shuddering at the effort it took not to punch the stupid pianist in the face. Didn't he understand how much just how much he was hurting at that moment?

"Vhy vould I be happy that you're leaving me behind?" he'd snapped without meaning to and Roderich recoiled in surprise, looking at the German as though he'd spontaneously combusted into flames.

"Vhat the hell is wrong vith you?" he'd asked, voice going soft with hurt as he pulled in his lips like he used to when his was six. The look had been like being doused with scalding hot water and ice all at once. Gilbert had felt himself deflating rapidly, an awkward, tense silence enveloping the room as Gilbert's world started to crumble from the inside out.

"…you're right. Sorry… that vas un-awesome of me, vasn't it?" he mumbled then, choking on the words like they were bile, tears stinging in his eyes before he'd turned and walked away.

He'd looked back only once and it was to see the strangest expression on Roderich's face, an expression that he didn't have a name for. But Gilbert just kept going, even as Roderich had called his name, screamed, cried out after him, the echoes of his voice haunting his quickening steps as he fled the music hall.

* * *

><p>The applause is thunderous, rising like a wave and growing as people everywhere surge to their feet, drowning out the sound of the piano bench scraping against the wooden stage floor. Gilbert smiles as Roderich steps up beside him and they bow together, their actions initiating a whole new volume level from the crowd.<p>

"You didn't mess up," Roderich says over the noise, nonchalant as he nods to the applause. Gilbert resists the urge to elbow him in the ribs.

"Give me _some_ credit vill you?" he laughs, tucking his violin into the crook of his arm. "Ve're not _all_ pansies like you are. If anything, be amazed you could keep up vith the _awesome_ me."

He manages to get an annoyed smile from Roderich and laughs again, standing up straight and proud as the applause continues to roll over them. He sees Matthew and he smiles brightly, face warming as the lights turn back on over the audience. They're even louder than before.

The praise won't be ending anytime soon, the two players can tell, so they shake their heads at each other and bow once again.

* * *

><p>Twenty years had passed since they had first met, almost eight since they'd said good-bye. Though Gilbert had seen Roderich at the performances at the Philharmonic and had talked to him just long enough to give his standard jests and congratulations, the two hadn't played together since that fateful day. Roderich went to University; Gilbert went to a community college and joined a small band of violinists and a cellist from all around the country shortly after graduation. The pay wasn't always good but the venues they played at were always at the most spectacular scenic areas of Vienna.<p>

It was at one such venue at Stadtpark near the _Johann Strauss II _monument that he met Matthew. The Canadian was studying at the University and making extra cash on the side by playing the fiddle. His style was fantastic, his music lighthearted and free, and his smile deceptively cunning and deadly. Gilbert fell fast for that smile and he fell hard.

They were living together in a decent house near the edge of a park in a year and they'd been there ever since. Gilbert had felt a great amount of pride as he sent out his new address to all the various family and fellow musicians in his life, but he had paused when Roderich crossed his mind. He had the pianist's number but never called as well as his address though he never wrote. He didn't want to shut that door to his life right then and scribbled down his new house number on a small card and shoved it in the mailbox with hesitant force before he could change his mind.

It would be another three years before he saw any sign of Roderich. The letter came one Monday afternoon. Gilbert had shut himself away in his study, desperate for some music to trickle away the time as Matthew busied himself with cleaning the house, a chore he had banned Gilbert from helping with since he had the bad habit of creating more messes even as he tried to clean. Fighting boredom, he was just about to hurl his bow rosin across the room when Matthew knocked and let himself in, placing the letter in his hands. It was in the form of a large yellow packaging envelope. He was shocked as he saw the address scrawled in neat writing over the top.

"Roderich huh?" he murmured, tearing open the package. Inside laid new music and a note that explained an upcoming concert in honor of some old music teacher at the University. The music he'd selected was titled _Night on Bald Mountain. _He laughed when he saw it.

"What is it?" Matthew looked at him, curious by his reaction.

"Roderich und I have never played Russian music before," he explained with a fond smile. "Old Man Fritz vas against it, but look, right here: _'Composed by Modest Mussorgsky'. _Russian through und trough… und vhat the hell kind of name is _'Modest'?"_

Matthew rolled his eyes at that and pulled the music out of the envelope.

"I've heard this… it's rather fantastic."

"Is it now?" Gilbert stared at it with growing interest. Knowing that look, Matthew surrendered the piece and excused himself with a soft laugh. Gilbert set the music on the stand and lifted his violin, eyeing the notes carefully.

When he pulled out that long, first sequence of notes, he smiled wide, knowing it would be one hell of a reunion piece for he and Roderich, and one hell of a concert.

* * *

><p>The cheers last for three whole minutes, the clapping for five. Gilbert has bowed so much his face is red from bending over and Roderich looks like a primed up tomato. When they finally exit the stage, Matthew is waiting for them, as well as Elizaveta, Roderich's girl, who swoops down upon him with raucous laughter and a full, happy kiss. Matthew is much more subtle with his bouquet of roses, squeezing Gilbert into an enveloping hug that evades both smashing the violin and squishing the roses against Gilbert's face. He places a warm kiss to the German's cheek, smiling against his skin. Gilbert kisses him back with gusto, laughing into his blonde hair.<p>

The concert was a success, and Roderich is smiling as he holds out his hand, Eliza under his arm.

"Not bad for a pompous _monstrum_," he jokes, cocking an eyebrow when he grins. Gilbert takes his hand.

"Couldn't have said it better myself _Prinzessin,"_ he smirks back at the age-old insult, the joking tone of his voice belying the warmth he puts into their handshake.

* * *

><p>One week before the concert had found Gilbert at Roderich's rich mansion, arguing with himself on whether or not he could face his old crush and former friend. The idea of being in the same room for a good hour or two was daunting and it took ten minutes of shuffling his feet on the porch before Gilbert had finally gotten the courage to knock on Roderich's front door, his insides twisting painfully, making him feel nauseous as he tried to think of something to say. His nerves had been tighter than bowstrings, and when silence had greeted his knocking, he felt compelled to leave, a thought that quickly dissipated when the door suddenly swung open and Roderich was there, scowling fiercely just like old times.<p>

"You're late," he'd growled and Gilbert had briefly entertained the thought of running like hell down the street and away from the accusing look in the Austrian's violet eyes. But he'd forced himself to remain where he was, smirk wide, and chuckle snidely.

"_Vergib mir,"_ he snarked out a sarcastic apology, stepping through the door quickly and shouldering his way past Roderich's stiff frame. "You gonna let me in or vhat?"

He'd heard a grumble from behind him and he laughed again, though his heart was pounding fiercely in his ears, deafeningly loud as he followed Roderich to his music room, smiling at the piano waiting for them when they entered.

"Shut the door behind you," Roderich had commanded, all business just like when they were kids and taking his seat. Gilbert had obliged before opening his case, taking some well-needed strength the reassuring weight his violin granted him. The air between them had been tense and charged with the edge of awkwardness, and he'd focused hard on keeping his fingers from shaking as he tuned his instrument.

They'd set immediately to work, something Gilbert was grateful for, and for a solid hour they worked out the kinks and tricks of their new piece of music, refining it, tweaking it, settling their parts together. They'd fallen into their old pattern effortlessly, losing themselves to the music and their work. The awkwardness slowly seeped from Gilbert's mind, his body relaxing as they played the music through again and again, adjusting and improving until they both let the music settle, satisfied.

"Kind of feel like the old man conned us," Gilbert had snorted when the silence had started to stretch too long. "How he could hate music this awesome is beyond me."

"For once I agree," Roderich sighed, distracted, fingering the keys with feather-like touches. His lips had started to pucker, his brow creasing and furrowing. Gilbert had felt his heart jolt a bit when he recognized the look the Austrian turned on him, and had tried to ready himself for the question before it came.

"…vhy did you run away?" was all Roderich asked, no prelude or build up, so quietly and somberly that the German was surprised, and Gilbert swallowed thickly in the face of his greatest fear, tucking his violin uneasily under his arm.

He'd wondered for a moment if he could brush off the question, ask dumbly what Roderich was talking about, but he'd realized that, although the inquiry was seemingly random and vague, Roderich knew instantly that Gilbert knew what he was referring to. Again the idea of running away like a bat out of hell had entered his mind, made more potent when their gazes locked and the room suddenly seemed to shrink in around him. But something in Roderich's eyes made him pause, the deep depth of hurt and distress in the pools of violet kept Gilbert rooted where he was, and he'd sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat as he gave into his fate.

"You know vhy," he whispered, shuffling his feet in shame. Roderich had only looked more upset at his words.

"If I _knew,_ I vouldn't have _asked,"_ he'd snapped harshly, lunging to his feet so forcefully he nearly sent his piano bench tumbling to the floor. "There's absolutely no reason for you to assume-!"

"You're a smart man Roderich," Gilbert had cut across firmly, sending the man a pointed look. "I'm sure you can guess."

The silence that had greeted him was painful to his ears but he'd stood unyielding before Roderich's accusing glare, matching his gaze measure for measure. The minutes had ticked by in charged intervals and everything seemed to be holding its breath as Roderich had stared him down, reading a unspoken message in his eyes.

Gilbert had shifted anxiously under his scrutiny, hoping fiercely for the first time that Roderich really was smart enough to figure out the secret that had so long ago destroyed them. he felt ashamed of himself for ever allowing it to happen, but no matter how hard he tried or how much Roderich's face began to crumble, he couldn't find it in himself to regret loving the Austrian before him, and he prayed that, for once, his old feelings would be easy to read.

And then Roderich had pulled away, abruptly, and he knew it was finally over. Gilbert breathed, quietly, fascinated and nervous at the way the Austrian's face contorted in a myriad of emotions, stumbling back and bracing himself on the edge of his piano to support himself as his mouth worked on words that wouldn't come, eyes widening as the truth at last came to light.

"_Oh…" _was all Roderich had been able to manage, face flushing to the most brilliant shade of red Gilbert had ever seen. For whatever reason, the sight sent his fears running for the hills, and Gilbert had laughed, freely, for what felt like the first time in years, relieved beyond all comprehension.

"_Mein Gott," _he'd smiled, shocking the pianist further. "You look like a tomato."

Roderich had had enough presence of mind to look offended, bristling slightly like a cat, but a tight, uncertain smile had started to twitch on the left side of his mouth.

"_Monstrum," _he spat, not unkindly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. They'd fallen quiet once again as those violet eyes returned to regard Gilbert carefully.

"I… vouldn't have minded you know," he'd said then, looking somber. "I vouldn't have hated you for that."

Gilbert could only blink dumbly at his words before shrugging sadly. "You vouldn't have returned my feelings either."

Roderich had no reply but Gilbert had expected that. He'd clapped the Austrian hard on the shoulder, making the other man jump.

"Too late now," he jested honestly, grinning wide at Roderich's shocked face. "I've got someone better than you anyvay… und, unlike you, he loves me und recognizes me for the awesomeness that I am."

The words didn't hurt like he'd thought they would; instead, he felt liberated, at peace, free, and the joy on his face made it easier to smile at the man he'd once fallen for, a smile that Roderich studied with a quiet acceptance before returning the gesture.

* * *

><p>"Until ve meet again," Roderich says then, nodding once as he allows himself to be pulled away. Gilbert salutes the retreating back of the pianist. His chest feels light from the exchange, the severed bonds of their friendship slowly, finally snapping back into place. He feels complete again, the chapter closing behind him.<p>

The crowd is dissipating now, thinning out, talking and laughing. The spell has been broken over them and one by one they escape from the fading magic. His violin is tucked under his arm, Matthew is warm against his side, and that, he knows, is everything he needs.

And in his heart, he hears the music still, the beautiful, thrilling music of the night. It plays over and over in his mind, echoing, calling, beckoning him and he is helpless against the call. Somewhere, a door opens, and he feels Matthew's arm tighten around his waist. He smiles and crosses the threshold, unafraid.

* * *

><p><em>Finito.<em>

_Hope you all enjoyed! R&R please_


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